Bree!

If I start every one of my reviews off by declaring my undying love for said CD, you might start to question my taste. But you know what? I'll take that chance. I f----ing love Panic at the Disco's Pretty. Odd.

Now, the real obstacle is listening to this disc objectively — that is, clear away all the "boo hoo it's not Fever and it's a blatant Beatles rip-off" commentary that has been flying about the past week or so.

If Ryan Ross hadn't confessed to having a love affair with Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, would you even have considered the comparison? I mean, really — where were you during the Beatles craze? Were you but a mere sparkle in your mother's eye? I'm thinking your mother was barely a sparkle in your grandmother's eye. The point is Beatlemania was a WHILE ago. Even if I thought they were replicating their sound, I'd still be stoked, because there are worse bands to be influenced by. Nickleback, for example.


I realize that the testosterone boys and harlequin girls feel that they can't properly extract sexually energetic phrases to describe blooming egos and ever-developing teen angst. May I suggest… rap?

A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out was like hanging out with your super-articulate yet slightly melodramatic crush (who just wouldn’t stop talking). Pretty. Odd. Is your tree-hugging, laid-back, perma-positive buddy — your good influence (even if he does eat the special brownies).

Panic at the Disco may not have found their signature sound yet, but I'm willing to tag along with them while they explore.

Best song to create new AIM screen names from:  "She Had the World"
Best song to convert your parents: "Folkin’ Around"
Best songs to slide across a hardwood floor in your socks while singing into a hairbrush microphone: "Pas De Cheval" and "Mad as Rabbits"

Linkage:
Reaction round up is over here!
Kron reviews the new Raconteurs.
Mark reviews A Silver Mt. Zion's latest.
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